Strong Enough to Let Me Go
by Child of Mars
Summary: "Poor little soldier. Revan taught you to spill yourself, didn't he? To flow with lust and guilt and strong emotions…you emptied yourself on every mission, until your heart was stretched so wide that nothing would stay in it. Just so the Jedi wouldn't see you coming." Atton's last discussion with Kreia. Rated T just to be safe for brief descriptions of injuries.


**Strong Enough to Let Me Go**

"Fool. How are you feeling?"

Atton didn't even have the strength to lift his head. Luckily, Kreia dug her fingers into his hair and did the job for him. He felt what little blood he had left rush to his gut and pool there. His brain spun crazily in his head, searching for a retort. "Kreia…you're looking…pale."

He didn't even want to talk about her eyes. Great black orbs swallowed up by evil shadows. The corner of her lip turned up. "Still reading from the same old script. I hope it comforts you."

It was then that she did the strangest thing. Sitting down on the cobblestones, she took hold of Atton. He felt himself tugged over onto his back, rolling until his head was pillowed in her lap. He bit down on a silent scream of terror, his broken fingers clenching into knobbed fists. "Holy _Sith_ ," he gasped, a breathless whisper of pain.

"Apt," Kreia replied dryly. Her wizened hand extended over his body and he felt some of the broken parts of him simply…cease. Blood and life stopped leaking out of him and he was thoroughly and completely confused. Kreia paused her work to give him a stern glare. "If you work with me, Atton, we can keep you alive until the Exile arrives."

"Why." It was painful to speak. Whatever Sion had done to him…it had been more than plain torture. Something in his body had been rewritten…as if someone had carved the word 'split' over and over across every inch of skin. A command. He felt that if he were to get cut one more time the pieces of himself would never rejoin and heal. "Why are you using me…to hurt her?"

"You and I, we are sinful murderers, owning our guilt, refusing to let it go. Meetra seems to have a special soft spot in her heart for people like us." Kreia leaned back against a pillar, staring off at the rocks in the darkness. "Did I tell you that she offered me redemption?"

"Let me guess…" he felt blood sloshing in his lungs, catching there like a cloud of red moths. "You refused."

"As did you," Kreia murmured, "Though for entirely different reasons, I expect. I have done evil, but it was necessary. You have done evil…but only because you lusted for it. You satisfied a primal urge when you murdered those Jedi. I at least had a higher aim in mind."

"What are you…going…to do with us?" his hands twisted feebly. If only he had a weapon. If only he had the strength left to use one.

"You have seen first-hand Lord Sion's power. Experienced his gift. You two are the same. You were born to give pain to others, unable to grasp your own anger and envy. You will become the new Lord of Pain. Did I tell you how I created Nihilus and Sion? One died for the other to be resurrected. Sion has begun the process already…you will not live long on your own, unless you allow me to teach you. I will teach you to subsist on the pain."

"I don't remember karking asking you."

"Language," Kreia said mildly. Her hand came down, the fingers digging gently into the broken, wet spots seeping through Atton's shirtfront. He sucked in air, biting down on a scream. "Atton, who do you hate?"

Atton wanted to say, 'You'. But that wasn't true. Despite all of his bluster, he'd run out of the energy to hate anyone else. There were a few old grudges from the past, of course…and a lot of dissatisfaction with himself…but there was nothing new to talk about. And nothing he was going to tell this old witch.

"Poor little soldier. Revan taught you to spill yourself, didn't he? To flow with lust and guilt and strong emotions…you emptied yourself on every mission, until your heart was stretched so wide that nothing would stay in it. Just so the Jedi wouldn't see you coming. And then _she_ came to you."

Atton knew who she was talking about. Not Meetra. She was talking about the Jedi woman, the one he killed.

"She stopped the flow, didn't she? Put her hand over the hole. Forced you to swim in the true essence of what you had become. You couldn't stand it. And so you killed her, flattering yourself that it was a mercy. That it was revenge. She had ruined the joy of murder for you…how could you forgive her for that?"

"Well, being the Lord of Pain is not so different. You will forever bleed, spattering pain and lust and hate across the galaxy. And Meetra…she will follow behind you, a shadow so great and powerful it will blot out the very stars. But you are lucky, Atton. She truly cares for you. Meetra will relinquish her humanity to save you."

"You'll turn Meetra…into Nihilus?" Atton wheezed in disbelief, his chest starting to rise and fall in panic. "Me…into Sion?!" he grit his teeth, shouting defiance at the woman who held him in her lap. " _Never_!"

"It is inevitable," Kreia was undisturbed. "Sion hates and envies, like you. Nihilus loved and lost, like Meetra. A taker and a giver, twisted into living conduits of power and immortality. You don't care about the universe, Atton. And in time, you will cease even to care about her. That will be your betrayal of her sacrifice, and the end of all her weakness."

Atton did a surprising thing then. He laughed. It burst from his mouth like a bubble of joy, blood spraying from between his teeth, spattering Kreia's chin and robes. She flinched in disgust.

"Sion didn't choose what he…became…did he? Too stupid…he didn't understand. No one…opened his mind. You tricked him…left him in…the dark. Shoulda left me…in the dark."

"As I said," Kreia wiped the blood off her chin, irritated. "It is inevitable. This will be Meetra's decision, not yours."

"You think I came…here because of fate? Because of the Force?" _It's a joke. It really is. Everything is a joke._ "I chose to, Kreia. I chose to…fight Sion. Let him hurt…me. Goaded him. And now I…choose to die. That's the difference. I can…let go. And Meetra…" his voice choked on more than blood. Tears sparked in his eyes. "Meetra will…let me go. You don't get…how strong…she is. Stronger than you'll…ever be."

Kreia's breathing hitched. Her hand tightened again over the wounds in his chest. Atton only smiled at her. "Who do you hate, Fool?" she hissed, "Remember what that Jedi did to you!"

"She broke me," Atton's gaze drifted across the ceiling, to the storming sky where the ghosts of Malachor V swirled. Green lightning and drifting pieces of a dead world were reflected in his eyes.

 _Malachor touched all of us. We all died there, and the echo kept travelling. It just took a while to reach us._

"She broke…my mind, my soul…didn't ask. Made me see…the world as she did. You…wanna break me." He closed his eyes, unable to bear the sight of the battle above. The one he still fled from in his worst nightmares. "But not Meetra. I'd break myself…for Meetra. But she'd never ask."

 _The great sorrow and the great joy of my love for her._

"Don't flatter yourself," Kreia snarled. Her fingers arched over his bloodied brow. "Just because you think you are disposable doesn't mean the Exile won't fall to save you. And just because you hide your thoughts behind numbers and plastic cards doesn't mean you can hide your weakness…your _hate_ …from me!"

Atton screamed, his body arching off Kreia's lap, limbs spasming as the full and terrible force of Darth Traya's powers stabbed into his unprotected psyche. She was searching for his rotten core, for the torn, ragged remains of the empty warrior he had once been. For the stench of guilt, the trembling weakness of a miserable, selfish existence. The demon of lust and love that had murdered the Jedi woman who saved him. Everything that Atton was beneath the smart remarks and idiotic façade.

She got so, so far into his mind. But she hardly had a chance to see more than his family burning alive under Mandalorian hail fire before Pazaak cards were upon her. Giant red and gold and blue cards, whirling across her vision so quickly it hurt. Loud, blaring echoes of lust and guilt and anger…everything Atton truly felt and everything he could have forgiven himself for, given the chance…mingled together until even he could not tell the difference.

Kreia was driven back by shields of pure, dirty, mundane human essence. Stumbling through his mind. Railing at the stubbornness of him. Until she was met with a vision of Meetra. The Exile. Smiling.

The Exile using the Force to perform wonderful, amazing feats. The Exile saving the weak, foolish, and even the undeserving. The Exile looking at Kreia with warmth but also hurt as Kreia suggested that she allow harm to befall others. The Exile being naïve, foolish, hopeful…and somehow succeeding. Somehow pulling through with luck and still keeping her soul intact and surely, surely this was worth the risk, the betrayal, the…

"NO!" Kreia shrieked, yanking her mind free and opening her eyes to the sullen glow of Malachor's temple. She jolted, staring down at Atton. "What was that, you idiot?!"

The light was fading from his eyes. "Your only weakness," Atton rasped, feeling his heart flutter within him like a dying bird. _That would be me. Dying._

For a split instinct, Kreia's face turned ugly with rage. _Huh. Finally hurt her feelings._ She shoved him violently off her lap and he fell on his face again, his fractured ribcage bending like soft tissue at the change in pressure. He whimpered as Kreia stood above him. "Stay alive, fool. If Meetra is truly as strong as you think…then you are already dead to her. At least do her the courtesy of saying goodbye."

Her footsteps stalked away. Atton lay there, eyes closed. Breathing. Breathing in the dust of Malachor, feeling his limbs die without him. Feeling the sting and ache of his broken body as it faded into oblivion.

Dimly, as if through miles of water, he heard the burning, hissing crash of lightsabers. Dimly, as if through the three-foot thick durasteel doors of a Pazaak den, he heard Meetra's thoughts. Shielding herself from him, for both their sakes. To protect him from worry, to protect her from the agony of his loss. Letting him go. Hiding their love from the old snake.

Atton centered himself. Feebly, he fluttered through the guilty, broken remains of his mind and picked out something tangible. Something to keep him alive. All of his wasted, ruined emotions scattered across his soul and he picked something new. Something he'd never even given a chance to grow. It was so powerful he marveled at the rosy glow of it, the way it linked him to the Exile, made him die for her. Made him wait for her.

He remembered Meetra smiling at him over her hand of Pazaak, trying to pretend it was a good hand. He hoped she had a hell of a hand now. A set that would slam Kreia right out of the game. A full house of pure Pazaak.

 _What was that, you idiot?_

He felt Kreia's Force signature evaporate from the world. The bruised parts of his body and mind that she had touched hummed a little in relief.

 _Your only weakness._

Meetra's shields came cascading down. Her footsteps came towards him, louder and louder.

 _My only strength._

Her hands were on him, her whispers were comforting him. He was already dead. He died a long, long time ago. _The scent of her makes him feel safe. The soft, warm touch of her mind eases the brokenness of him. He thinks that maybe…maybe she was the reason his ghost kept living._

 _But that isn't something to say, those aren't the words to end with. So he decides to be honest._

"Love you from the moment I first saw you…"

 _Meetra lifts an eyebrow at him, scolding him for ogling her very fine form. But his mind is distracted by the sheer warmth of her Force signature. He can't get enough of her foolish, courageous kindness._

"Thought you were a dream."

 _Tell her the truth, you fool!_

"Meant every word. Tried to play if off as a joke…wasn't funny."

Meetra's warm hands cupped his ice-cold cheeks. His ruined face. She stared at him with wide eyes full of tears that gave no hint she even noticed his mutilated body. "Atton, sshh…it's okay, it's alright."

"Hurts when I laugh…" he wanted to tell her…what? That pain was always a part of him, and so was lying, and so was guilt, and so was hate?

Or did he want to tell her that despite it all...she gave him joy. For brief moments, he could surface from the black sea of himself…and she made him happy.

"Hurts."

She cut his confused, fading ramblings short by leaning forward and kissing him. Her soft, sweet lips pressed delicately to his forehead, tasting his blood. Causing it to bleed more. But the touch of it thrilled his very heart. If he'd truly been a fool…if he'd truly wanted to be Sion, then maybe…maybe he could have lived on this.

But that would have turned Meetra into a monster. He would rather lose her than destroy her. And she would rather lose him than destroy him.

Maybe that was the essence of true love. It wasn't too bad to…to feel it, finally. At the end of all this. It wasn't too bad…to share it with her. For the last time, he struggled to take her all in, her face, her breath, her aura…he struggled to hold onto it as he faded, an armful of color and hope and love that slipped from his embrace.

His eyes closed then, and Meetra felt his spirit leave her grasp. She gathered his body into her embrace, burying her face in his bloody shoulder. There had been no time, no place to do this before. Now there never would be.

Tears spilled from her eyes. For the first time since her childhood, she took a moment and wept for herself. And she wept for the love she could have had.

But even that couldn't last. Malachor was about to be destroyed. She needed to save her remaining crew.

So she laid Atton down. Standing up, she clamped down her shields and bolstered her emotions. "A five, a flip card, two minus threes…and the game itself. Republic Senate rules." She could not look at Atton. Her heart would break, and she would never make it back to the Ebon Hawk.

"No bets. No one comes out on top."

With quick, heavy steps, she left it all behind. The glowing red heart of the Temple, Kreia's darkness, Atton's body…and the ghosts of Malachor V. She left them behind and ran ahead, to trigger another explosion. But this one wouldn't trap their spirits. This one would set them all free.

 _So no matter how bad things get, you'll be right here with me._

 _Playing Pazaak, where they can't reach you._

FINIS

* * *

 ** _Author's Note: I'm kinda gushing about KOTOR 2 right now. What a well-scripted, daring, bold story, how deep and dark and depressing...with such bittersweet possibilities. I chose to play as a Light-Sided female Meetra Surik, who had a spark for Atton but lost him to Lord Sion._**

 ** _I already knew what was going to happen to him, so it hit me really hard when he taught Meetra about Pazaak...and how if she used the card game to shield herself...he would somehow be there, in her imagination, playing cards with her._**

 ** _Please forgive me for any lore inaccuracies and join me in crying for Atton and all these other characters, mired in their own darkness, selfishness, and sorrow. They destroyed their own lives...and so many of them had only the best intentions, or reacted naturally to violence visited upon them and their loved ones._**

 _ **I guess in that way, KOTOR 2 really is an examination of human nature, how fallible we can be...and the fact that although redemption is always open to us, it is a path rarely taken.**_

 _ **Thanks very much for reading, I hope you enjoyed...and reviews feed my Muse! Seriously, she hasn't worked so hard in months. Love you guys! :)**_


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